


inter unum somnium et alterum

by entropicangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Homeless Sam, M/M, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Sam and Dean raised seperately, Season/Series 11 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:40:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropicangels/pseuds/entropicangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what if life for the winchesters was drastically different? what if mary winchester had never died on november 2nd, 1983?</p><p>sam winchester is homeless. the only solace for him is the dreams he has every night where he hunts and kills monsters with the brother he never had, dean. when dean get’s pulled into hell, he sets off to find him, with only his journal and his memories of dean to guide him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inter unum somnium et alterum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brightasstarlight tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=brightasstarlight+tumblr).



> I started writing this fic in January of this past year, and when I joined the bitter sam girl club’s secret santa and got @brightasstarlight, and found out that they wanted an au where Sam and Dean were raised separately and reunited, I thought this fic would be a good fit. Enjoy!
> 
> 11.09 spoilers

**_January 15_ **

Dreams have begun to get worse. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

We were fighting a vampire this time. It wasn’t like those silly Twilight vamps either. They were evil, shark-toothed, sons of bitches. I can still hear the sound of one’s sinew and flesh tearing as one’s head was chopped off. It took about two swings to do the job. Dean laughed at me.

I don’t even know this “Dean,” this man in my dreams. But, I feel like I’ve known him all my life. I didn’t remember my any of dreams until recently. Guess something triggered it. Probably when Dad died. Actually, I dreamt his death before it happened. In the dream, Dean and I got into a car with him, and a demon driving a semi plowed into the side of Dean’s car. I was pretty banged up, and Dean was too. So much so that he pulled a Patrick Swayze and went all ghost. Then, Dad made a deal with—fuck.

***

“Excuse me you’re gonna have to move, or else I’m gonna call the cops,” said Bela, a clerk of the grocery store Sam was begging in front of, and blew out a puff of cold air.

“Sorry…” he huffed, standing up quickly, dropping his journal and his Styrofoam cup with change, which spilled out three nickels and a dime.

Bela was gone before Sam could look back up the street.

He sighed, his breath mingling in with the foggy air. He knelt down and started to pick up his meager belongings, his large fingers fumbling with the small, round coins. A hand started deftly picking up the coins, gathering them into its palm. The hand held out the coins and Sam looked into bright blue eyes.

“Thank you,” Sam said, taking the coin’s from the other homeless man’s hand. “You didn’t have to.”

“No need to, you’ve got pretty meager paying right there,” the man said. His voice was rough, like he’d seen a lot. But his face was kind.

Sam smirked, dropped his coins back into the cup, and moved aside to let some people pass on the sidewalk. “Yeah, uh--?” 

“Clarence,” he replied, holding out his hand.

“Sam,” Sam said, taking his hand.

“Not the best place to be asking, I usually hang around the east side,” Clarence explained, looking towards the sun rising.

Sam would’ve looked too, but he was perfectly content with looking at the pinks and purples of the sky through the blueness of Clarence’s eyes.

“Mhmmm,” was all that Sam could say.

“You have to be a bit more wary when it comes to getting kicked out, but it’s nothing major. Pay’s good, excellent even,” Clarence looked at Sam, “what are you looking at?”

Sam’s eyes fell, “nothing…So anyway, East side right?”

“Yeah, got enough for some great…”

“I’ll see you around there then?” Sam said, picking up his journal, sleeping bag, and backpack.

“Oh…yeah, I guess so. See you, Sam.”

***

Clarence was right. The pay was good over at the east side. He made about five bucks, which was enough to buy him breakfast.

He was in a café searching for a pre-wrapped sandwich that didn’t look too slimy, when he noticed a girl sitting by the window. She had wavy blonde hair and a mysterious look in her eye.

Jess? He thought frantically, standing in the middle of the café, dumbstruck. She was supposed to be dead. In his dreams at least. She died the same way his mother had died in those dreams. Although his mother had died when he was a little baby, barely could even recall what had happened. But he knew about Jess. He had distinct memories of her. The way she twisted her hair around her finger when she was nervous, the way her eyes would crinkle when she laughed. The way—

It looked like she was waiting for someone. For him perhaps?

“Jess…” he called out, softly.

Jessica turned her blonde head towards him and smiled, crinkle and all. Then she vanished, leaving only an empty chair in her wake.

 

**_January 16_ **

Seeing Jess… it was dream breaching reality. Am I going crazy?

Speaking of, I had a dream the other night. Dean went to hell. It felt so real; Dean being torn apart by hell hounds. It felt like I had actually lost him. I needed to find him again.

I needed to find Dean. See if he exists. If not… I don’t know what I can do, I’ve got nowhere to go. No family to turn to. I’m on my own until then.

***

**  
**  
_January 18: 5:00AM_  


Three solid days of looking and I’ve got absolutely nothing to show for it. I’ve been switching libraries every so often just so I can go on the computer and not be noticed for hogging it for the entire day. It’s not a very good plan, but what can I do? I can’t just drop this… I need to see something, anything that proves I’m not crazy.

I have no plans for when I get there. Actually find the guy, and then what? I don’t know

***

Sam was sleeping outside of the entrance to a large skyscraper, his sleeping bag wrapping him up in a like shroud, just so that the top of his head peeked out.

“Hey, buddy, you’re not supposed to sleep here,” a voice said, gruffly.

Sam woke up, pulling the sleeping bag from his face. He took a sharp intake of breath when he met the green eyes of someone he recognized, albeit from his dreams.

“Dean?” Sam sputtered. He slid out from his sleeping bag and stood, standing about a head taller than the man was. Scratching his head under his toque, he said, “I—I can’t believe it’s you!”

The man, Dean, stood with his mouth open for a couple milliseconds and then abruptly shut it. He reached out and roughly grabbed Sam, pulling him into a small alley near the building.

Slamming Sam into the brick wall, he growled, “How do you know my real name?”

Sam blinked, half from the shock of seeing Dean and half from not knowing what the hell he was talking about.

Pushing on Sam’s chest with the back of his forearm, he reached behind his back and pulled out a pistol with a marble handle and pointed it at Sam’s face.

“Woah, WOAH, hey!” Sam yelled, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“I said,” Dean replied, clicking the safety off his gun, “how do you know my real name?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Dean cocked his head slightly and shoved the gun in Sam face, “Yeah? Try me.”

Sam took a shaky breath. “I’ve been having these…dreams. They’re so vivid, so real. I’m killing…hunting these monsters…with you.”

Dean’s face widened. The gun slipped from his hand and clattered on the ground. He removed his arm from Sam’s chest so Sam could breathe. Slowly, Dean brushed his hand over Sam’s face, wiping away the dirt and grime. 

“Sammy?” Dean breathed.

Sam nodded, tears brimming in his eyes.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, enveloping him in a hug.

***

“So, we’ve been dreaming the same dreams?” Sam called out from the bathroom.

They were in Dean’s large, elaborate penthouse apartment, which happened to be the building Sam was sleeping in front of.

“Apparently,” Dean said. “Do you think we have ESP?”

“I don’t think that’s what that means.”

“Are you done in there yet?”

“Not yet. These clothes don’t seem to fit.”

Dean opened the door to the bathroom, to see Sam, showered and clean shaven, fiddling with the buttons on a button-down shirt.

“Here,” Dean offered, but Sam flinched away. “What? I’m your dream-brother.”

“I just…” Sam paused for a moment.

Dean looked up at his brother, seeing now that he shaved how sunken in his face looked. Sam dropped his hands and Dean could see his open shirt, which revealed his thin frame. Ribs were starting to show and his collarbone was pronounced. Dean could clearly see Sam’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he gulped.

“Sam…” Dean started, but Sam turned away, quickly shrugging off the shirt. Dean almost gasped as he saw scars trailing down Sam’s arms and across his back.

“Oh my god,” Dean breathed, just loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam turned to face his brother, and bit his lip.

“What… what happened?” Dean said, eyes flicking back and forth from Sam’s torso to Sam’s face.

Sam looked at some of the scars on his forearm, and felt like he saw them for the first time once again. 

“Most of them are from the car accident that killed my dad,” he said.

“And the rest?” Dean asked.

Sam fell silent, and Dean knew that he shouldn’t prod any further.

“D’you want something to eat? You look like you need it,” Dean said, as he started to leave the bathroom. “I’ll find you a shirt that fits, alright?”

Sam nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Soon they were both digging into grilled cheese sandwiches, the only available food in the apartment. Dean meant to go out to get groceries, but Sam being here, he didn’t see the point.

It was a long while before Sam spoke again. “It’s a nice place you got here.”

Dean swallowed the food that was in his mouth. “Yeah. You can see the whole city from up here. Heated garage for my baby too,” he said.

“You have the Impala?”

“Not the one from… you know. I got kind of obsessed. I rebuilt one that was really messed up, from a car accident I think…”

“When did you get it?” Sam said, quickly.

“My friend Bobby got it around… a couple years ago now, or more.”

Sam fell silent. He stared at his plate, deep in thought.

“What, you think it used to be your dad’s?” Dean asked.

Sam stared at Dean. “I mean, if we’re this connected… it could be possible…” Sam said.

“This just keeps getting weirder,” Dean replied.

**_January 20th_ **

I finally found Dean. He’s really real. It’s a really great feeling. Hopefully we can find some answers about why we’re having these dreams. It can’t be coincidence. It just can’t.

***

_Dean and Bobby scrawled any mark of warding or protection they can think of onto the barn walls and ceiling. They gathered weapons; Ruby’s knife, stakes, machetes. Bobby performed the ritual, careful to do every step correctly._

_After hours of waiting, Dean finally spoke._

_“Are you sure you did the ritual right?”_

_Bobby gave Dean a look._

_“Fine. Touchy,” Dean said._

_Suddenly the clattering of wood and metal could be heard. Dean and Bobby looked up to see the metal roof banging on the wood frame._

_“Wishful thinking, but maybe it’s just the wind,” Dean told Bobby._

_The hanging lights shattered, giving off a piercing screech. The doors forced themselves open, breaking the wood that kept them in place. As the lights shattered, the sparks coming off gave light to a figure in a trench coat, walking towards Dean and Bobby._

_Dean and Bobby raised their shotguns as the figure came closer. Dean fired the first shot, hitting the figure right in the chest, to no avail. Bobby followed suit as they both fired shots, but the figure kept walking._

_Dean and Bobby lowered their weapons, and Dean grabbed Ruby’s knife and held it behind his back._

_“Who are you?” Dean said. Whether or not he was scared, it didn’t show in his face._

_“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition,” the man said, in a deep, gravelly voice._

_From beside Dean, Sam watched with awe, invisibly. He recognized that voice, and those blue, blue eyes._

_“Clarence?”_

__

***

Sam woke up, coated in sweat and felt like he was having a panic attack. He didn’t know where he was; he was in some room with white walls. He breathed heavy, hyperventilating, thinking he was in the unit again. He had been admitted there soon after his Dad died.

The door flew open and Dean quickly entered the room. He knelt by Sam, and tentatively rubbed his back.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Dean said.

Sam looked at Dean, tears flowing freely. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy. It’s me.”

Sam’s breathing slowed, and he stopped crying. After taking a few breaths, Sam spoke.

“Did you--?” 

“Yeah, you too? But you weren’t--?” Dean said.

“Somehow I needed to see it. We have to find Clarence,”

“Who?”

***

After eating a much needed breakfast, Sam and Dean headed out to find Clarence.

“So this guy…what does he have to do with our dreams?” Dean asked Sam, as they walked in the garage to the Impala.

“You’ll know him when you see him,” Sam replied.

“Well, here she is,” Dean said, gesturing to the black Chevy Impala.

Sam walked towards the Impala, running his fingers along the top of the car. It brought back a lot of memories, of his childhood, and his dad. All of that came to a grinding halt as he remembered the crunch of metal and the impact as they crashed.

“C’mon, we’re burning daylight,” Dean said, opening the driver’s side door with the familiar creak.

Sam got in the passenger side and shut the door. He couldn’t get the crash off his mind. He was screaming; blood splayed out on the windshield and his dad deathly still in the passenger seat.

“…so you said we have to go to the east side?” It seemed Dean had been talking.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, snapping out of the nightmare. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. We’d better go,” Sam said.

They had been driving through almost ten blocks of convoluted city streets, when Sam spotted him.

“There! That’s him, in the bright blue coat!” Sam yelled, pointing.

Dean’s tires squealed as he made a U-turn and parked on the side of the street. Sam and Dean got out of the car and ran to Clarence. 

“Clarence!” Sam yelled.

Clarence turned to look back and then bolted, running down the busy city street.

Sam and Dean gave each other a look, and started to run after him. Clarence was fast. As Sam and Dean dodged people walking on the street, Clarence gained a lead and headed down an alley.

“Go to the other side of the building, there’s an opening behind it. You can get to the alley and cut him off. I’ll follow him,” Sam said to Dean.

Dean nodded curtly and ran off. Sam ran after Clarence in the alley. Two pairs of feet slapped the ground, echoing throughout the space. At the end of the alley there was a tall, chain-link fence blocking off Clarence’s only exit. 

Clarence tried to climb the fence, but Sam grabbed Clarence around the waist and pulled. He tried to scramble up, but Sam held on and yanked. They both came tumbling down on top of each other. 

Clarence stood and was prepared to run away, but he came face to face with the barrel of Dean’s gun.

“Why do you always have that thing?” Sam said, getting up.

“Just for situations like this,” Dean said. “You pulled me out of hell,” he said to Clarence, and slightly lowered his gun in disbelief. 

Clarence looked from Dean to Sam and back again. Dean thought he saw a sparkle of something in Clarence’s eyes, as Clarence reached over and pressed his index and middle finger to Dean’s head. Dean’s gun slipped out of his hand and he fell to the ground, passed out. 

“What did you do to him?” Sam yelled backing away from Clarence.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Clarence said as he touched Sam’s head.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but fell into darkness.

***

When Sam woke up, he was in a bed of a motel room. The room was dark, and he couldn’t see Dean anywhere. He sat up in the bed, anxious.

“Hello, Sam,” said a voice from beside him.

Sam turned and Clarence was sitting beside him, wearing the same clothes he did in Sam’s dream.

“Who are you?” Sam said, sharply.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord. My name is Castiel,” he replied.

“I don’t believe you,” Sam said. “Where’s Dean?”

“Do not worry about him. He is safe.”

“I think you can understand why I don’t believe you, Castiel,” Sam said, warily.

“I do. But you have to listen to me now. I’ve made a grave mistake.”

“Other than seeming really suspicious?”

Castiel smirked. “I’ve always enjoyed your sense of humour, Sam.”

“Cut the crap. What was your mistake?”

“My mistake was letting your mother live.”

“My…my what?” Sam said in disbelief.

“Your life wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were supposed to become a hunter, with your brother. But, I wanted you to have a better life. So I went into the past, changed the course of history, to prevent that fire all those years ago.”

“Then time caught up with my change; Mary and John Winchester perished. You were devastated, and shut down. That was my biggest failure,” Castiel explained.  
“So you changed history, because of me?” Sam sputtered.

“Yes,” Castiel said, standing, so he was closer to Sam.

“But, why?”

“You were in Lucifer’s cage, for the second time, and I didn’t want you to suffer any longer.”

“Why?” Sam pestered.

“Because, Sam. From the moment I met you…I knew. No matter the circumstances, whether I was an Angel or you were Lucifer’s vessel, I knew that I…loved you…and still do.”

Sam was confused. Lucifer’s vessel? He had no idea what that meant. But, Castiel’s final words struck a chord with him. He had not had anyone love him before, besides perhaps his father.

“So…you can’t just change it back?” Sam finally said.

“I cannot. If I go back over my own timeline, I could create a time paradox,” Castiel replied.

“So, what now?”

“Since we cannot change the course of history, let’s cherish the present,” Castiel said.

He brushed his lips against Sam’s. Sam thought of pulling away, but deepened the kiss.

If he couldn’t change the past, the future might as well be the best it can be.


End file.
